The Perfect Man
by Brittany Bright
Summary: OneShot. What qualifies a man to be perfect? Faye may just have to find out...


**Hey, guys.**

**This is a little one-shot set in the Cowboy Bebop 'verse, and don't worry, there are no spoilers at all. This is pretty much a pointless drabble. Sorry if it sucks, but I had midnight inspiration and had to punch this out. I got the whole "Perfect Man" criteria from my sophomore year Spanish teacher (seriously! She was bomb), and even though that was more than 3 years ago, the idea just popped into my head _right now_ to apply it to Spike Spiegel, and voila! Instant one-shot. Hope you all enjoy.**

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The Perfect Man

Faye reached under her bed with one hand. She flattened herself on the ground, stretching her arm as far as it could go. She peeked an eye underneath the bed frame, swinging her arm from side to side, groping for her towel. Where had it gone? She could have sworn she left it in her room.

Instead, her hand brushed the cover of a magazine. Faye grabbed onto it, pulling it out from under the bed and eyeing it with interest. She didn't remember this issue. Well, she had nothing better to do.

Faye sauntered out to the living room, purposefully ignoring the man stretched across the couch. She plopped down in the armchair and flipped the magazine open, flicking through the pages.

A heading caught her eye.

_The Perfect Man_

Faye raised a brow, interested in where this was leading. There was such a thing? She snorted softly in disbelief.

"What's that?" Spike grunted, not taking his eyes off the television.

"A magazine."

"A wench's magazine? It's perfect for you, Faye," he drawled, still not looking at her.

Faye frowned. "No, it's actually about fluffy-haired idiots. Look, here's a picture of you." She smiled sweetly, but Spike merely ignored her. He still hadn't moved his gaze.

Faye only rolled her eyes, concentrating again on the article.

_The Perfect Man must have three things. He must be able to:_

_1) Smell good_

Faye peeked over the edge of the page.

Spike was sprawled across the couch, one hand behind his head, the other fingering the remote. The light from the screen flickered across his lean body. He watched through half-lidded eyes as the channels flipped by.

Whatever possessed Faye, it moved her to stand right in front of him, one finger holding her place in the magazine, the other hand on her hip. She leaned down theatrically, bending at the waist, bringing her face down so that her nose was inches from his. He looked puzzled, to say the least.

"Faye?"

He seemed almost too shocked to move. She stared at him complacently, glad to have unsettled him for the moment. She held his gaze just a little longer, leaning in just a little farther, before closing her eyes and making a loud sniffing noise.

Yep, he definitely didn't smell good, like sweat and cigarettes and engine fuel and the distinct stench of the Bebop.

Spike looked horrified; Faye straightened and smirked, waving the magazine in front of her face like a fan.

"What the hell?" he asked.

Faye looked down at him smugly, enjoying this far too much. "You don't smell good," she said simply, then floated out of the room. She cackled softly when she reached her rquarters, glancing back at the living room just quickly enough to catch Spike staring, bemused, back at her.

Spike shook his head and pulled out a cigarette. _Women_…

…

Did he really smell bad?

The sounds of the shower running reached Faye's ears as she sat on her bed, continuing to read her interesting little article.

_2) Dance_

Faye bit her bottom lip pensively. Had she ever seen him dance? Oh, yes.

Another bountyhead had gotten away. Spike cursed fervently under his breath as he pushed into the bar, slumping into the first seat he could find. Faye followed him begrudgingly inside, sitting next to him with a little more grace.

His temple was bleeding and his knuckles were bruised, but those were only the wounds actually visible. Why was he always the one to get beat up? He wearily motioned the bartender over and ordered a drink. Faye rested her head in her hand, sighing heavily. They were waiting for Jet to get back from wherever he was, probably buying groceries or something they couldn't afford.

Spike downed his drink quickly. Faye raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. He could get drunk all he wanted; he was usually less hostile that way.

"It was your fault," he murmured, taking another sip.

Faye pursed her lips angrily. "No, it wasn't. You're the one that got your ass kicked."

"You should have shot him."

"You were in the way!"

"Then you should have shot me." He cursed under his breath again before swallowing another drink whole. Faye rolled her eyes and nursed her drink, more than a little ruffled.

"Yeah, I should've," she mumbled darkly. Spike must not have heard her, or was a little too inebriated to care, because he didn't reply.

A jazz band started up in the corner of the room, springy tune pulsating over the bar patrons. Many people tapped their feet to the beat, and a few couples stood up to dance unsteadily. Faye watched this with mild fascination, but wasn't really surprised to find Spike tapping his foot to beat, though he seemed to be a little off.

He was almost completely slouched over the bar, another full drink in his hand. Was there a vending machine next to him? Where did he keep getting those alcoholic beverages?

"Faye?" he slurred her name. Faye knocked back another drink, not liking where this was heading. Spike could usually hold his liquor; if he was slurring, he was pretty drunk.

"I like this song." He bobbed his head a little, but stopped after the first few tries, apparently disorienting himself too much with that motion.

"Me, too." Faye actually meant it. It was a bouncy tune, perfect for dancing. She smiled playfully. Had they both been sober, she would never have attempted this. "Dance?"

Spike raised his head and smiled sluggishly. "Okay."

Faye took his drink and gulped it down. She definitely needed it more than him. She clutched his arm and dragged him onto the dance floor.

For the first few moments, Faye concentrated—as hard as it was—on finding her rhythm. She swung her hips from side to side, getting a feel for the music and making sure she wasn't going to pass out or vomit anytime soon. Then she looked up at Spike.

He was waving his arms from side to side, shuffling his feet clumsily. Faye had only time to drunkenly register how horribly uncoordinated and inept he was, and how surprising that was considering how graceful he looked when he did his Jeet Kune Do.

Jet took that opportunity to fetch them, and if it wasn't for Jet's knowing smile the next time she probed him about Spike's dancing skills, Faye could have sworn she had imagined the whole thing.

The whine of the shower had stopped, making Faye snap out of her reminiscence. Her eyes moved down the list to the final necessary component for the perfect man.

_3) Cook_

Oh, that was easy.

Jet was out on Ganymede for the whole day, visiting a few old friends and leaving Spike, Faye, Ed, and Ein to fend for themselves. As darkness rolled around, so did their stomachs, but Jet still wasn't back yet.

Ed cartwheeled around the room, singing a song in Klingon for all Faye could tell. Ed's stomach rumbled ominously, making her stop halfway through a cartwheel and balance on her head. Her mouth squiggled cartoonishly and she made an exasperated sound.

"Where's Jet-person?" she asked to the room at large. Both Spike and Faye were lounging on the couch, beginning to wonder the exact same thing. Spike shrugged, unwilling to expend the effort to actually answer the question, so Faye turned to Ed instead.

"He's visiting friends, but he said it wouldn't be long. I wonder what's keeping him?" she said.

"Ed wants shit," she declared, making both Spike and Faye look at her questioningly. They were used to her eccentricities—for the most part—by now, but this was new.

"Shit in a pit! With a big zit!" she sang, rolling onto her back, but Spike cut her off before she could complete a second verse.

"Where is this shit?" he asked with mock innocence.

"In the fridge!" Ed cried, before taking Ein on her head and zooming over to the kitchen. Spike shrugged resignedly and got up to follow her, so Faye had to get up to follow him, too.

"Might as well see this shit," he mumbled.

They walked into the kitchen to find Ed's head crammed into the refrigerator.

"Did you find it in there!" she shouted, and it took Spike and Faye a moment to realize who exactly she was talking to. Ed opened the freezer door and pulled out a disgruntled Ein. The dog shook his head, though whether he was answering her question or objecting to his treatment, Faye really wasn't sure. Though the surprised look that flicked across Spike's face was truly priceless.

This time, Ed and Ein both stuck their heads in the fridge, sniffing around for the alleged shit.

"Here!" Ed bellowed triumphantly, brandishing a battered take-out container, shoving it gleefully into their faces. "This is the good shit!"

Spike gingerly took the container from her, and she skipped out of the kitchen. Spike opened the box hesitantly, peeking under the corners before tearing off the top.

"Mushrooms… Ed! These are shitake mushrooms!" he yelled towards Ed's last known direction, mentally slapping a hand to his forehead. Faye merely shook her head.

"Well, you're cooking them," she said.

Spike considered. "Are you supposed to cook mushrooms?"

Faye only shrugged and walked out of the room.

Less than five minutes later, the pungent smell of burning 'shrooms was wafting out of the kitchen, as well as dark smoke and a string of sharp curses.

Faye smiled at the memory. They really did taste like shit, and Ed was on for a week about all the shit she had to eat when Spike-person cooked that night.

_Remember: even if your man doesn't embody all of these qualities, it doesn't mean he isn't perfect for you._

Faye tossed aside the magazine and ambled out towards the living room again.

Spike was out on the couch once more, in his normal spot in front of the television, one hand tangled in his green mess of hair. Faye stood behind him for a split second. Well, he wasn't perfect, but he was still Spike.

"Hey," she growled, suddenly irritated. "Is that my towel?"

He casually looked down at his towel-clad form.

"What, this old thing?" He grinned wickedly. "Yeah."

_Nah, who are we kidding…_

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**So, there goes my first attempt at a CB fic, and at a one-shot. Glad that's over. I hope this wasn't too bad. And yes, I used the shitake mushroom joke, SO SUE ME. Hope the characters weren't too OOC, especially Ed. She's tough, I'm tellin' ya. Well, now that I got that out of my system, I wish you all happy days and thanks for checking this out! Please review!**

**Much love,**

**BB**


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